|This story, Sorcery, is Rated T, which means it may include fighting, blood and swearing|
Sorcery is the first book in the Sorcery Saga.
Are you listening?
Good, because you're probably the only one who will. My name is Elric Grey, and I'm the Chosen One. It's a bit of an outdated term, I know, but according to the Prophecies, I'm the one who can master all four branches of magic: Socercy, Necromancy, Healing, and Banishing. No one else can but me, and I'm the only one who can stop the State.
Know that you know something about me, I'll tell you something special about our world.
According to the Mayan calender, magic is cyclical. Every 1,000,000 years magic is taken away, and then released again. Almost every human being can get a little bit of magic, but most can only master one. Except me. And because of that, the totalaritan empire known by us as the State hates me, and wants everyone to hate me.
How did I escape? How did I survive? Ahh, but to know that, you'll need perspective, and that is what I give you....
Chapter the FirstEdit
The forest surrounding the clearing known to man as Ravenwood Valley was completely silent on the best of days. This was not the ordinary silence, but a all-encompassing silence, weighing down on you like a huge paperweight. This alone had driven almost all hunters from the lush paradise.
However, today, the silence was broken by footfalls, crunching dead leaves and smashing logs and twigs to splinters. The source of those footfalls were a trio of hooded monks making their way through the woods. Each one wore a cloak of the brown color, and a sigil of a flying eagle with a picture of the country clutched in it's talons. This was the sigil of the State.
The lead monk suddenly raised his hand, the others freezing mid-step. The leader pointed toward a small thicket of trees just ahead. If one peered through closely, they would see a small village just ahead.
"That is our target," the lead monk said, his voice raspy and deep, "you know what to do." The other monks nodded and walked quickly toward the thicket. The leader joined them.
Slowly, the monks raised their right hands, pointing them threatingingly at the village. The leader walked in front of them. He paused, then raised his hand. Another pause.
"Rise," he said, his voice deepining into a thick baritone. There was a pause, and then the ground began to tremble. Cracks appeared, widening and leaving large openings in the dirt. A hand reached out of the ground and gripped the dirt. This hand was skeletal.
Chapter the SecondEdit